Page 1 of Deadly Avarice
Chapter
One
Erasmus
It had been a very long time since I’d seen a corpse in this poor condition. Charred pieces were all that remained, the body burned so far beyond recognition I was surprised anyone could identify the pieces as human. Why his loved ones hadn’t chosen to finish the job and cremate the remains the rest of way was beyond me.
“I was told you don’t need much,” Pablo Jimenez said, his accent more creole than Hispanic. Southern Louisiana was like that. It was a melting pot that proved one should never judge where a person was from by skin color alone.
“You were told correctly,” I answered while staring down at the diminutive box holding the remains. “I simply need part of the body. Ashes work too.”
Pablo grunted something unintelligible. “Good thing. That’s about all that’s left of Titus McMahon. Assuming that’s Titus’s remains in the box. Personally, I’m skeptical.”
And that’s exactly why I’d been called in. I’m not sure how Pablo’s company heard about me. I had a sneaking suspicion I had deceased serial killer Dr. Morgan McCallister to thankfor spreading my reputation around. More precisely, the news services that spread the story far and wide.
Regardless of how, I was currently working my first insurance fraud case. Depending on what the remains in front of me had to say, homicide might be added to that dubious list. If that were the case, this definitely wouldn’t be my first homicide investigation.
Pablo didn’t seem disturbed by the charred remains or the graveyard dirt scattered on the dark green blanket below. The table the remains rested on was a comfortable height, and the tent the cemetery had provided was quiet and more importantly, warm. Southern Louisiana wasn’t terribly cold mid-November, but we were currently stuck in below-average temps. Returning to my home in southern Mississippi when this was all over wouldn’t improve the chilliness.
“I’ve seen the photos,” Pablo said as he placed his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket and revealing more of his maroon long-sleeved dress shirt. There was a bit of shimmer to the shirt that made it stand out. Pointing an accusing finger at the remains, Pablo said, “I’ll bet a year’s worth of pay that’s not Mr. McMahon. His wife moved on awfully quickly, and if that is Titus McMahon, then the man she’s currently with is a dead ringer for her late husband. A beard and bad dye job doesn’t change bone structure.”
Leaning into the heels of my worn tennis shoes, I stuffed my hands into my generous pants pockets and rocked back and forth. I had a handful of Pops’s charms in each pocket and about a dozen more zipped away in nearly just as many pockets on my vest and jacket. Momma and Pops would be quick to tell anyone that I didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of standards when it came to what I wore. It had to be comfortable, warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and most of all, there had to be lotsof pockets. The weight of Pops’s charms was comforting in too many ways to put into words.
Pablo and I’d spoken on the phone a couple of times while setting up this meeting. He’d arranged for the remains to be exhumed. The man was pleasant enough. Maybe the wordprofessionalwould be more accurate. He hadn’t offered to shake my hand when we met in person, but I hadn’t expected him to. Humans were like every other species in that regard and didn’t go out of their way to physically touch necromancers. In fact, it was typically the opposite. Still, Pablo hadn’t sneered or made me feel like an abomination, so I gave him a lot of points for being cordial.
Truthfully, I got the feeling Pablo was too preoccupied trying to prove the remains in the box weren’t from one of his insurance company’s clients. If that were the case, I was about to make Pablo’s day.
“What do you need to do?” Pablo asked.
Tilting my head, my too long hair flopped over one eye. I didn’t bother pushing it out of the way. I was kind of used to my unruly hair. It could definitely use a cut, but my significant other, Detective Franklin O’Hare, liked my hair on the longer side. I didn’t much care about my hair. What I did care about was Franklin.
“What do you mean?” I curiously asked even though I had an inkling where this was going.
Pablo didn’t disappoint. Arms outstretched and hands flopping around the remains, Pablo made some odd type of circular motion and said, “You know, what do you need to do to, uh…connect…? Not sure if that’s the right way to say it.”
My grin was small but sincere. “I don’tneedanything.” I tapped my temple. “I suppose that’s not true. I need what’s up here.” I then tapped my chest. “Or maybe what’s in here. Not sure where to point to exactly, but what I’m trying to say is thatI don’t need anything special. In fact, I can already tell you the name attached to the remains.” If the body hadn’t been burnt so badly, forensics could have simply tested for DNA. I wasn’t a lab rat and wasn’t sure how it all worked. All I’d been told was that the fire the man had died in was too hot and had destroyed his DNA. And that, my friends, is why I’d been contacted.
Pablo appeared taken aback. “You already know?”
I gave a single nod.
“How? When? I…” Pablo’s gaze flicked between what was left of one Thomas Martin Speedler and me.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the thread connecting what was left of Thomas’s body to his soul. It wasn’t difficult, at least not for me. I had no idea if that were true of other necromancers. From what I understood, I was a bit of a unicorn where my species was concerned. Considering most necromancers were off the grid and pretty much incommunicado with the rest of the world, I wasn’t certain.
“Got your phone handy?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Wake it up and turn on the record function,” I ordered before mentally tugging on Thomas’s thread. “Thomas Martin Speedler, I call your soul back to your body.” I placed a heavy dose of my necromancer power into my words. I’d been told that my already bright green eyes glowed even brighter when I tapped into my necromancer side. Considering there were seldom mirrors nearby when I brought a soul across the veil, I simply had to take their word for it.
What I’d said earlier was true. All I really needed was a piece of the body. Cremains worked just fine, but I had to push more power into the returned soul if I wanted anyone but myself to hear them. Given that the vast majority of souls I brought back were at someone else’s request and that patron typically didn’twish to simply take my word for what the deceased said, I nearly always had to give that extra effort for others to hear.
The remains rattled but didn’t move beyond that. I’d found that if the ashes were free, most returned souls gravitated toward them, and they swirled in the air like starlings. Thomas’s remains stayed in the box, simply shifting ever so slightly. His soul attached to them, but in a somewhat distracted way. I was glad his soul didn’t seem fixated on what little remained.
I noticed a hitch in Pablo’s breath when I’d called Thomas’s name. While I wasn’t familiar with the case, being an investigator for an insurance company, Pablo was.
“Shit, Thomas Speedler.” Pablo’s breathing became increasingly rapid and shallow. “Titus’s business partner.”
